After those tales Ned could understand the recent rants from the friars screaming of the coming destruction. Blood and fire of the Apocalypse! Any city under siege from modern engines of war would witness their own dress rehearsal for St John the Evangelist’s prophetic words. It was no surprise that after the first roar of the Gonnes, most towns surrendered. Casting a more knowledgeable gaze over the iron and bronze instruments, the wonder was that in battle, men didn’t break and run at the first salvo. It must take a special kind of resolve to stand and watch the belching gouts of smoke and flame as they lashed out towards their ranks.
All this was a fascinating insight into the latest arts of war but now they delved further into the arcane craft the black powder. It was then that Ned realised he was being drawn into a very select cadre and it was only the great respect that they held for Rob Black that allowed his presence at this open conversation regarding trade secrets. Despite his lack of experience in these practical matters, he felt that he followed the explanation reasonably well.
From what he gathered, the black powder that provided the motive force was made up of the most irregular components-sulphur, the beloved compound of alchemists, charcoal from burnt timber and the white crystals and residue of manure called saltpetre. When mixed in a certain manner and proportions this created the base black powder. This was then subjected to further processing to create three sorts of powders-Gross corne powder, fine corne powder and serpentine powder. The first was preferred for the large Gonnes due to its manner of conflagration, while the last was used in the smaller hand held harquebus and caliver which were now in common use by soldiers across the channel.
Hubrecht laboured the fact that although it was possible to use the finest powder in the Great Gonnes, the results could be catastrophic if the proportional weights were incorrect. Common practice had it that the charge of powder was half that of the total weight of the shot. However that, as Ned was told, also depended on the quality of the powder and the grain size, since two pounds of coarser grain could equal four or six pounds of the finer powder in force.
But even after this judicious balancing there were more difficulties. The manner of storage and age could dramatically affect the powder’s performance. It had a tendency to spoil due to damp. Henryk reckoned the best way to check was to put your hand in the barrel and test how dry it felt. If it failed that test then it was put aside for reprocessing. It was this part of the explanation that Ned gained his most useful insight into the breadth of Sir Welkin’s changes. Until the last month the two Doutch Gonne artificers had supervised the sorting and storage of the powder. That area of responsibility had been given to two servants of the new Master of the Ordinance-John Edwards and Clem Watkins. As Ned knew, the granting of appointments was within the expected perks of the position. The question was, what would Sir Welkin, even as greedy as he appeared, gain from putting on two more men? His remuneration couldn’t have been much of a return on the inconvenience. Often it was considered appropriate to accept a modest gift from the current staff to maintain their positions.
This lesson in the mechanics of war was overwhelming and if anyone asked Ned, he would have freely admitted he was adrift in the flurry of arcane terms and technology of this warlike profession. However he had a niggling feeling that while it was all relevant to the disappearance of Ben Robinson, somewhere this confusion was hiding a vital clue. Well for a start he had to review the fields of battle that he understood.
Firstly there was the royal official Sir Welkin Blackford. From his attire he was a man who made an effort to dress above his title. As evidence the rings on his fingers were of the best quality. Ned had noted a particularly nice sized ruby that flashed in the light of the office as Sir Welkin had fluttered nervously. At a shrewd estimation, the gems and gold on each hand must have been worth a few hundred angels, so where was the value of the office? It wasn’t possible for Sir Welkin to rely on the demi cannon casting rorts to pay for his every day expenses. There had to be something else more regular.
Then one linking factor struck him and he asked the Doutch artificers a very simple question. “What does it cost for a barrel of powder?”
That produced a fierce discussion with much waving of arms. Whether those gestures defined sizes, measures or what, Ned was unsure but the brothers finally came to an agreement. As before, Rob Black was delegated as spokesman. His friend looking both shocked and surprised as he turned to deliver their deliberation. “Ahh Ned, I’m a bit unclear they…we had to try and translate their usual weights and prices into our equivalents, but they think a barrel of about a hundredweight, based on the price at Ghent last month, is worth eighty English pounds.”
“What? Per barrel! Are you sure?” Ned tried hard to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Rob looked puzzled for a moment before rejoining the huddle of experts. Further mutters and expansive gesturing signalled the efforts of translation until Rob finally straightened up and walked over with a slightly puzzled smile. “Yes Ned. They’re certain of it-eighty English pounds it is! The measures and weights was a bit of trouble, since they had to rework Doutch and imperial standards into London pounds since a good half to two thirds of the powder is bought overseas. Then there was difficulty in the exchange rate for Rhenish florins.” A pair of beard faced nodded in agreement to Rob’s explanation.
“Sweet Jesu, war is an expensive business!” To Ned this shed a new light on the cost of the cannon’s roar at city celebrations. At sixteen hundred silver shillings or two hundred and sixty gold angels a barrel, it was very clear why the King would want to restrict their use to only supremely important Royal announcements. He wondered just how much powder was used per Gonne. No doubt these two brothers would know down to the nearest peck, but he’d seen a possible answer for the vanished Ben Robinson.
“So where is the powder stored?”
That was too easy. All three of his experts smiled and almost in unison came back with the reply. “Here at the Tower.” Henryk obligingly pointed to quite a few of the buildings and battlement towers surrounding Caesar’s Tower in the centre.
Ned eased down a sudden gulp of apprehension and with growing dawning of awareness, asked the next question in his logical progression towards knowledge. “How many barrels?”
“Seck duizend.”
Ned really didn’t need the clarification from Rob. After a final huddle the concept was staggering. “That is six thousand, more or less, at the last count from Master Robinson.”
And the official who Sir Welkin admitted dealt with the paperwork for this vast quantity of black crumbly volatile gold was missing. Ned didn’t need a doctor’s degree to see the flaws in all this.
***
Chapter 8. The Trade of London, Smarts Key Wharf, Evening, 6th June
By the time they had concluded their fruitless search for the new powder officials, Edwards and Watkins, there was only a lingering half hour of the late twilight glow to aid in the journey from the Tower gates at Petty Wales to the docks upriver at Byllynsgate. Ned had briefly considered going back to Caesar’s Tower and collaring Sir Welkin, while he was still rattled from their recent visit, though with only vague suspicions and no evidence that effort would be a waste and no doubt bring unwanted attention from the Royal Court. Whomever the patrons of Sir Welkin were, membership of the upper tiers of the Court was a given. Only the highest had the connections to be able to bestow the position. Added to that was the familial relationship with the Dowager Duchess of Buckingham. That could indicate a lot of pull amongst the old nobility. Since Ned had already offended one senior royal officer in Sir Thomas More, it would be unwise to add further complications until he had a better idea of the factional line up. Anyway it could be better to have Sir Welkin sweat. Ned had dropped enough hints of Privy Council interest to make even the most saintly man apprehensive.